meet.
Randy Newman wrote a song, “Real Emotional Girl,” that I think describes Andi perfectly. I was in an acting class in my early twenties with my teacher Darryl Hickman, and I sang the song as a monologue/exercise. It’s a real heartbreaker. It goes: “She’s a real emotional girl / She wears her heart on her sleeve / Every little thing you tell her / She’ll believe / She really will . . .”
That was Andi. She was vulnerable, kind, and easily influenced. A bit lost. Like the girl in the song: “She even cries in her sleep / I’ve heard her / Many times before / I never had a girl who loved me / Half as much as this girl loves me / She’s real emotional.”
I will always miss Andi; she is forever in my heart. I wish I could’ve done something to help her live a full life, or even just a better life than she had before we lost her at thirty-four.
With her sudden death came a flood of emotion for our whole family. But we all shared the knowledge that she was no longer in pain. For any parent, the loss of a child is the worst thing you can go through. Although being disemboweled in the town square is a close second. Mel Gibson was never as likable as when they cut his guts out in Braveheart .
I’ve always had a fascination with death, being surrounded by so much of it growing up. At that time in my life, I believed it was therapeutic to think about what happens when we die. Some feel our soul goes on to another incarnation and that it keeps growing and learning. I just don’t want to ever go to a place where there are no deli meats. Honestly, I’m not sure what happens when we get out of here, but I do know I’m a lover of human life. I believe that people are basically good and pure at heart. Especially if they’re holding a chicken salad sandwich. How can you not trust someone holding a chicken salad sandwich?
Allow me please to make my earlier point clearer. I believe most people are good and pure at heart. I try to see the good in everyone, I really do. Even when I’m on a long, nightmarish plane flight and looking around in horror at my fellow passengers . . . at the couple arguing at the top of their lungs so everyone can hear . . . at the guy next to me whom I made the mistake of saying hello to, which led to a six-hour monologue detailing every aspect of his life, from his ex-wives drama to his bowel obstructions . . . at the lady behind me sneezing violently, not covering her face, just unleashing hot snot into the air, most of it directed all over me . . .
When I’m in that situation, I look at all these people and I try to visualize what’s beautiful about them. I may have to work a little harder, and I may have a tough time pushing out all the negative thoughts about these strangers invading my personal space. I may start to have an existential crisis, but then I breathe and try to imagine what their stories are. I say to myself, Bob, you’re just frustrated being around all these people in this hot, cramped aircraft and it’s making you focus on their worst qualities—but people are still basically good. I know in my soul that people are basically good.
I look across at the young mother and her baby sitting on the other side of me—a baby who could grow up to do something wonderful like find the cure for cancer. What could be more pure and good than a little baby who grows up to find the cure for cancer? I look at the guy with the ex-wife drama and feel better about him—he’s now sleeping peacefully, thanks to a couple Ambien. He’s not so bad, I think.
But then, it happens: The pilot announces, “We’re starting our descent.” And no one puts their seat upright or stops their way-too-loud conversation, and the baby suddenly throws up and some of it hits me. Yet, even then, I keep it together, thinking to myself, these people may not appear to be the best at this moment, but they are basically good people. And we all deserve to get to Ohio.
Randy Newman wrote a song, “Real Emotional Girl,” that I think describes Andi perfectly. I was in an acting class in my early twenties with my teacher Darryl Hickman, and I sang the song as a monologue/exercise. It’s a real heartbreaker. It goes: “She’s a real emotional girl / She wears her heart on her sleeve / Every little thing you tell her / She’ll believe / She really will . . .”
That was Andi. She was vulnerable, kind, and easily influenced. A bit lost. Like the girl in the song: “She even cries in her sleep / I’ve heard her / Many times before / I never had a girl who loved me / Half as much as this girl loves me / She’s real emotional.”
I will always miss Andi; she is forever in my heart. I wish I could’ve done something to help her live a full life, or even just a better life than she had before we lost her at thirty-four.
With her sudden death came a flood of emotion for our whole family. But we all shared the knowledge that she was no longer in pain. For any parent, the loss of a child is the worst thing you can go through. Although being disemboweled in the town square is a close second. Mel Gibson was never as likable as when they cut his guts out in Braveheart .
I’ve always had a fascination with death, being surrounded by so much of it growing up. At that time in my life, I believed it was therapeutic to think about what happens when we die. Some feel our soul goes on to another incarnation and that it keeps growing and learning. I just don’t want to ever go to a place where there are no deli meats. Honestly, I’m not sure what happens when we get out of here, but I do know I’m a lover of human life. I believe that people are basically good and pure at heart. Especially if they’re holding a chicken salad sandwich. How can you not trust someone holding a chicken salad sandwich?
Allow me please to make my earlier point clearer. I believe most people are good and pure at heart. I try to see the good in everyone, I really do. Even when I’m on a long, nightmarish plane flight and looking around in horror at my fellow passengers . . . at the couple arguing at the top of their lungs so everyone can hear . . . at the guy next to me whom I made the mistake of saying hello to, which led to a six-hour monologue detailing every aspect of his life, from his ex-wives drama to his bowel obstructions . . . at the lady behind me sneezing violently, not covering her face, just unleashing hot snot into the air, most of it directed all over me . . .
When I’m in that situation, I look at all these people and I try to visualize what’s beautiful about them. I may have to work a little harder, and I may have a tough time pushing out all the negative thoughts about these strangers invading my personal space. I may start to have an existential crisis, but then I breathe and try to imagine what their stories are. I say to myself, Bob, you’re just frustrated being around all these people in this hot, cramped aircraft and it’s making you focus on their worst qualities—but people are still basically good. I know in my soul that people are basically good.
I look across at the young mother and her baby sitting on the other side of me—a baby who could grow up to do something wonderful like find the cure for cancer. What could be more pure and good than a little baby who grows up to find the cure for cancer? I look at the guy with the ex-wife drama and feel better about him—he’s now sleeping peacefully, thanks to a couple Ambien. He’s not so bad, I think.
But then, it happens: The pilot announces, “We’re starting our descent.” And no one puts their seat upright or stops their way-too-loud conversation, and the baby suddenly throws up and some of it hits me. Yet, even then, I keep it together, thinking to myself, these people may not appear to be the best at this moment, but they are basically good people. And we all deserve to get to Ohio.
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